Victor Pinto

Stories by Victor Pinto

He stood in the room, facing the wall where the vase had just been smashed. He was holding the canvas with one hand. It was hanging down the side of his leg, a few inches off the ground. He passed his free hand through his shaggy hair and looked down at the floor. Standing in …

She stared down the street towards the direction from where the bus usually came. It would be here any minute now. She pulled her phone out from her pocket and checked the time. She had been waiting for over twenty minutes. It was now a few minutes past 10 o’clock, and the bus wasn’t there …